


I'll Show You Mine

by LustOnMyFingers



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Aunt/Nephew Incest, Exhibitionism, F/M, Flashing, Fluff, Incest, Infatuation, Jonerys Week 2018, Masturbation, Obligatory Fluff, Oral Sex, Smut, Taboo, jonerysweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 23:16:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13868055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LustOnMyFingers/pseuds/LustOnMyFingers
Summary: As part of his wife's dying wish, King Rhaegar sent his son, Jon, north to Winterfell to be fostered with his uncle and Warden of the North, Lord Eddard Stark. With his eighteenth nameday fast approaching, Jon travels back home to King's Landing where he reunites with his family in preparation for the festivities to be held in his honor. Despite her betrothal to his older brother, Aegon, Jon's old infatuation with his aunt Daenerys bubbles to the surface, particularly after she approaches him with an offer he finds almost impossible to refuse...





	I'll Show You Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This is both explicit *and* rather incesty. If that's not your thing, it's not too late to turn away!
> 
> This was written for the Jonerys Week event over on Tumblr (March 4th-10th), and the prompt is "Home and Family" (lol) Many thanks to DaenerysSnow for helping me find an appropriate prompt to file this under! ;D
> 
> Have at it, perverts!

The trip from Winterfell to King's Landing was _long_ , and Jon had not been happy to leave. He'd spent most of his formative years fostered at the northern castle with his Uncle, Eddard Stark, per his mother's request. Though he'd never met Lyanna, from what he gathered, her northern heritage had been incredibly important to her, so much so that she and her husband had discussed Jon's upbringing before he'd even been born. After his mother's death, Jon heard his father had been almost disappointed, expecting to have had another girl to complete his 'prophecy'. Had Rhaegar had his way, Jon would've been _Visenya_.

 

Instead, the prince ended up with something of an odd first name, one that hadn't matched his Valyrian surname. Had it not been for one of his father's most loyal companions, Jon Connington, perhaps Rhaegar might not have been King today. Jon shuddered at the thought. So the legend goes, as Robert Baratheon charged Rhaegar on the Trident, Jon leapt from his horse to block the blow, leaving his chest a mangled mess of ribs and carnage, allowing his beloved Prince to defeat the Stag on his next pass. In his honor, Rhaegar named his second son Jon, and nearly two decades later, bards all over the realm still sang his praises.

 

But now that his eighteenth nameday was fast approaching, King Rhaegar had requested his presence back at court. Jon feared the pomp and pageantry—a great feast, to be sure, and perhaps even a tourney held in his honor. He'd rather stay in the North, with Robb Stark, who'd been like a brother to him, and little Arya Stark, like a sister. Eddard, or _Ned_ , felt more like a father to Jon than had Rhaegar. Though he did miss Queen Elia, who'd been like a mother to him, unlike Lady Stark. Catelyn always seemed suspicious of Lyanna's choice in a mate, keeping an extra close eye on Jon in case he ended up being as mad as his grandfather, or, perhaps she feared he might whisk away one of her Stark daughters in a similar fashion as his father.

 

Jon had resented the constant comparisons. In truth, he had a difficult relationship with his father. Neither had been particularly emotionally accessible, and the distance between father and son had been almost assured due to Jon's inherited melancholy. Perhaps he hadn't been born in the shadow of a tragedy as terrible as Summerhall, but felt a similar stain all his life, having been both the cause of his mother's death, as well as a letdown to his father from birth. While most fathers in Westeros welcomed sons above daughters, Jon couldn't help but feel inadequate. Perhaps it is because Lyanna died that the kingdom had accepted his place in the line of succession, or perhaps because Rhaegar's current wife could bear him no more children. Either way, Queen Elia remained by her king's side, his loving and devoted wife, and after Lyanna, Rhaegar had never strayed again.

 

As the Red Keep came into view from the thin grating of the wheelhouse's window, Jon's thoughts drifted to his siblings, unsure whether or not he was even excited to reunite with them. While Jon was close with Aegon as a child, they'd since grown apart, likely due to little more than physical distance. He and his brother had both been their father's sons. Jon represented his wistful, rebellious warrior side, whereas Aegon was every bit the charming, diplomatic, bookish prince. Rhaenys was much like her mother, Elia, the perfect Dornish princess, every bit as kind, sweet, and dutiful. And then there was _Daenerys_...

 

Before his mind could wander to his aunt, a harsh rapping came to the side of the carriage.

 

"We're here," a man's voice called. "And your father's waiting."

 

The door opened, allowing fresh wafts of excrement to strike him almost like a physical blow. He tried to push the stench away with the wave of his hand, but it suddenly dawned on him that the foul odor would be just another part of his life, now. _Gods, how I miss the north_ , he internally bemoaned.

 

After gathering his things from the small cabin, he turned back toward the keep. That's when he'd spotted her—an ethereal figure drifting beneath a stone archway. _Daenerys_ , his mind sang her name at the sight. Age had been _nothing_ but kind to her, so beautiful even the most gifted of sculptors couldn't lure her flawless form from stone. The wind caressed her silken dress—sending the lilac fabric rippling over her legs like water, boasting its unfair privilege to _touch_ her. The thin garment left little to the imagination— _weather appropriate_ , he assumed, happy to have discovered one of the few perks of the south. She stared at him, head slightly cocked, with a pretty, crooked smirk.

 

 _She's betrothed to Aegon, you idiot_ , he chided himself as he gaped at her. _Look away. Look away..._

 

Ever since they were kids of eight and seven, she'd had the same effect on him—stark white from head to toe, save for her amethyst eyes—as haunting as a ghost. Even Viserys had, more or less, felt like an annoying older sibling, but never Daenerys. Jon had always harbored jealousy for his brother Aegon, having been betrothed to the unearthly Targaryen beauty since her birth. He'd hoped his time away from King's Landing would strip him of his silly infatuation, but already, from a mere glance alone, he could feel it piecing itself back together near to completion.

 

Sighing, Jon started his reluctant ascent up to his father's study, where he'd been expected. Holding his head high, he walked right past Daenerys, not even giving her the courtesy of eye contact. _Look away, look away_ , his mind chimed over and over, hoping to cement his resolve.

 

Though he avoided her gaze, he could sense that his decision to outright ignore her hadn't gone over well. Only a few paces toward his destination with a guard on either flank, he sneaked a peek of his aunt from over his shoulder. While he expected little more than a frown, what he'd actually seen were her fingertips fondling the bust of her dress, inching the garment down, _down_...

 

He gulped before turning around again, checking to make sure he wouldn't collide with something unexpected. And then... a second peek. This time, she'd worked the silk fabric down enough to expose her breasts to him. In turn, she'd worked his jaw down as well, uselessly hanging from its hinges, agape at the forbidden sight. After realizing he was about to round the corner, he decided he'd take one last peek... Unfortunately, she'd returned to a fully decent state, save for a wicked smile and a coquettish wave to match.

 

.  .  .

 

Feeling a bit dejected after a luke-warm, all-business meeting with his father, Jon was escorted to his new chamber after a quick bath, given an hour or so to change and make himself 'more presentable' before joining his family for supper. He happened to like his northern garb just fine, already feeling a measure of resentment for being told he must change out of it. Though, admittedly, the weather certainly called for it, as perspiration had already beaded his brow and seeped into his damp and unruly mane. The humidity would likewise take some acclimating to. _They can dress me how they like_ , he vowed, _but I'll be damned if they try to cut my hair._

 

Once alone inside, he wasted no time stripping off his doublet and tunic. Both came off together as he peeled them from his clammy arms before falling to the floor with a thump.

 

"Jon Targaryen..." a woman called from his balcony.

 

Instinctively, he jumped, stumbling a bit before catching himself on his bedpost. He hadn't even realized his new room had been wide-open to the elements.

 

"What in _seven hells?_ " he cried, squinting to see it had been Daenerys, backlit by the colorful waves of sunset, cast in reds, pinks and golds.

 

" _Seven hells_ , is it? What would your old gods say?" she asked as she floated toward him, the straps of her lilac dress just waiting to fall from her shoulders.

 

"You sneaked into my room to talk religion, did you?" he sneered, taking care to retrieve his tunic from the floor, in an attempt to cover himself up.

 

"I didn't sneak in, the door was open."

 

"Well, that didn't mean you should just _come in_."

 

"But I wanted to see you. You never said hello."

 

"Well, _you_ sure said hello..." he'd accused her, his eyes dropping to her breasts, where her nipples stood erect just under the flimsy fabric. Quickly, he tried fishing his tunic from the tangled mass of clothing he'd just dropped, his nakedness making him uneasy.

 

"Forget it," she abruptly said, storming toward the door in a huff. "You've _always_ been standoffish. I don't know why I even bothered."

 

"Wait, _Dany-_ "

 

" _What?_ " she turned expectantly, so much so that he doubted she would've even left.

 

"Is that really what you think of me?" his heart began to pound unevenly, already beating through several stages of grief for his behavior. It's true he tended to push her away as a child despite their natural bond and even his inclination to follow her around like a pup. And now, he wanted nothing more than to beg her forgiveness, to explain it went against every last instinct, that it had all been for the sake of respecting her _fucking betrothal_.

 

She only nodded as she crossed her arms.

 

"I'm sorry," he said, his words genuine and laced with disappointment in himself. "I was lookin' forward to seein' you, too. A little too much, honestly."

 

With only a hint of a smirk, she floated toward him again. "Then see me," her voice, a seductive hum.

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"Don't you remember our deal?" she questioned, as her fingers fondled the straps of her silk shift, threatening the sight of bare skin.

 

Furrowing his brow, Jon thought back to when they were kids, one of the last times they'd seen each other before he was sent north. He'd almost forgotten it, the memory stashed away in his mind, so mortifying he hadn't _dared_ to revisit it. Sometime in the days before he left King's Landing, Daenerys had hunted him down in a similar fashion, offering an improper deal, an exchange of sorts. That is, until _Elia_ had caught them at it, and made sure they remained separated right up until Jon was sent away.

 

"I'll show you _mine_ if you show me _yours_ ," she echoed the ancient words, a once relatively innocent offer that had a whole array of new implications now that they were grown. Daenerys then dragged her hand over her groin, pressing the silk right into her mound. The suggestive sight sent Jon's blood surging, testing the limits of every vein. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, nibbling away at the skin as she caressed herself gently over her dress. _Gods_...

 

Finally, Jon gathered enough will to back away. "I can't believe you remember that," he whispered, abandoning any attempt to re-dress his torso as his clothes fell to the floor a second time.

 

"You agreed to it. And I'm still waiting for a look," she purred.

 

Unsure what to do with his hands, Jon mussed his hair as he tried to find a way out, suddenly all-too-aware he'd been standing, naked from the waist up alongside his aunt, just inches from his bed.

 

"You _are_ still betrothed to Egg?" he nearly squeaked.

 

"Aegon isn't my type."

 

"Why not?"

 

She shrugged, eyeing his bare chest as she ran her fingers along the wood of his bedpost.

 

"All the girls love him. Any girl your age would kill for 'im," he said, backing further away from her advances.

 

Chuckling, she traced his steps with her own, "Well, he is beautiful, blessed with the good looks of both of his parents."

 

"So... charming, intelligent, good-lookin' princes are _not_ your type?"

 

"I like quiet types. I prefer my men be a little more... mysterious."

 

"Your _men_ ," he scoffed. _Am I jealous?_ he wondered. Of course he was...

 

Choosing to ignore his comment, she reminded him, "My offer still stands, Jon."

 

"I couldn't do that to my own brother."

 

"He doesn't have to know," she said, grabbing her skirt, pulling the fabric and gathering it in her fist. "Aren't you the least bit curious?" she asked with a tilt of her head.

 

Jon could feel the skin on his neck jumping, compliments of his overextended heart. His treacherous mind kept erasing her dress altogether, painting images of her nude body in its place, _begging_ him to accept her lascivious offer. _Egg_ , he reminded himself, willing forth memories of his brother's face, instead.

 

"Curious about _yours?_ I _don't_ think so," he finally said, the sentiment seasoned with a bit too much snark.

 

"You used to be," she quickly reminded him. "Don't you want to see one? I'll give you a look at mine."

 

"What makes you so sure I _haven't_ seen one?"

 

"The way you reacted when I flashed my top half earlier," she chuckled. "They're prudish in the North, I hear."

 

"Maybe so. But girls there like princes all the same."

 

The hem of her skirt fell to the ground as she unclenched her fists in defeat. Jon suddenly felt guilty for lying, and for making her feel unwanted. She certainly wasn't that. Not to him. He'd wanted her since before he even knew what wanting her had meant.

 

"You were right, Dany," he said quietly, before trying to gulp away the lump in his throat.

 

"About what?"

 

"I haven't. Seen... _one_."

 

"Is this you telling me you'd like to?" she asked, immediately collecting her skirt once more, dragging it slowly up, revealing more and more leg...

 

Jon closed his eyes to consider. If he said yes, which part of him— _the bigger part—_ had wanted to, it would forever change his relationship with Daenerys, and possibly Egg. Best case scenario, he'd get to gape between her legs for a few moments the way he'd dreamt of doing for years, now. Though, worst case scenario, he wouldn't want to stop at just looking, and she might not stop him from exploring her. And then she'd go on to marry Aegon, anyway, and he'd be utterly crushed.

 

"Jon?" she asked again, the sound of his name on her tongue shaking him from his moral quandary.

 

He only pursed his lips, lightly nodding. She smiled, hiking up her skirt, revealing she'd had on _nothing at all_ underneath. All Jon had seen was a quick flash of a V-shaped silver-blonde tuft before the skirt came crashing back down to the tiles. He couldn't help the fresh wave of disappointment from washing over him.

 

"Not much of a look, after all..." he whined.

 

After picking his gaze up off of the ground, he realized she was unfastening her skirt altogether—it wasn't a dress at all, but two separate pieces. Before he knew it, Daenerys had stepped out of the fabric, completely nude from the waist down. She walked over to a settee on the open balcony, giving Jon a great view of her ass all the while. Taking a seat, she motioned him over toward her, "Come here."

 

Relinquishing full control of his bloodless limbs, Jon shuffled over to her awkwardly, glancing over the lip of the balcony at the people below, wondering if, somehow, they knew or could see. Dany opened her legs up to him, the fading sunlight illuminating the already-glistening skin—soft, pink, and dewy like a flower's petals, nested in a thatch of silver, downy curls. She let him stand before her, taking in the sight for a moment before swinging her legs over the arms of the chair, and scooting her bottom down further, _completely_ opening and exposing herself to him—leaving _nothing at all_ to his imagination, now.

 

Dragging his teeth over his bottom lip, his eyes fell to the lowest point between her open legs—a ring of taut and puckered skin just beneath her already-seeping opening. The only thing he was aware of anymore was his throbbing erection, heavy with blood and burdening his trousers, begging to just take her right then and there.

 

"I can't believe this," he whispered with a wince. "I've been back little more than an hour and you're naked on my balcony."

 

"Not yet," she reminded him, before pulling her chemise straight over her head. " _Now_ I'm naked on your balcony."

 

A humid breeze had carried her scent straight to his nose, musky and aromatic, like a clean sweat—except that it had awakened something that once lay dormant, something primal. All he could do to keep his composure after that was to breathe from his mouth, instead. It _had_ been hanging open, anyway.

 

"Kneel down, get a better look if you like," she said.

 

"No, _I_... I think I've seen enough," he gulped. In truth, he wanted to bury his head between her legs and never come up again, not even for air.

 

"You don't like it?" she frowned.

 

Using every last ounce of his willpower, Jon clenched his eyes shut, "We should _go_."

 

"That wasn't part of the deal," she snapped her legs shut.

 

"Deal?"

 

"I get to see yours, too. _That's_ what we agreed to," she reminded him, slipping the chemise back over her chest, _thankfully_ , as Jon feared he might rip a hole straight through his trousers, otherwise. It was _not_ a state he wanted her to see him in—hardly able to disguise the engorged monstrosity protruding from his pelvis. _She'd be disgusted_ , he reminded himself.

 

"We need to get to supper," he slurred the words as if inebriated.

 

"I'm not leaving this room until you show it to me," she said, extending a finger to swipe over his trouser's laces.

 

As a result, Jon's cock jerked against the fabric, jumping for her touch and causing a ripple of pain felt all throughout his body. He tried to adjust himself, but it was of no use, his groin ached terribly, as if he'd been _kicked_.

 

"Suit yourself," he said, wincing through the discomfort. "Starve, if you like. But I need to get dressed and go. Guest of honor and all."

 

"I can see it through the fabric, Jon. Just show it to me."

 

Flushing from the comment, he moved his hands over his groin, "I can't."

 

"Why not?"

 

"I need to calm down a bit, first."

 

"No. _Now_ ," she insisted, standing before him naked from the waist down—her scent had returned, permeating the air around them. "I want to see how hard I can make it."

 

As luck would have it, a light rapping came at Jon's door. Dany jumped up in surprise before quickly stepping into her skirt, pulling it up and securing its fastens.

 

" _Yes?_ " he sheepishly called toward the door, hoping whoever it was wouldn't come barging in to see him alone with his aunt.

 

"Prince Jon, I'm here to escort you to tonight's supper. I'll be just outside when you're ready," the man had said, his voice muffled through the thick wood.

 

"Just a moment!"

 

Jon strode to his open wardrobe, picking out the darkest fabric he could find. He then slipped into, in his opinion, an uncomfortably ostentatious black tunic. Though for typical Targaryen standards, it had been downright _dull_. After equipping a belt, he was more or less ready, and utterly relieved that the low-hanging fabric disguised his aunt's ill effect on him.

 

Answering his smug grin with a glare, Daenerys could only fold her arms as she watched him leave the room without her.

 

.  .  .

 

Luckily, dinner had been only a small get-together of immediate family, and a few of the king's most trusted advisors. It had been a tight fit—the Queen's Ballroom decorated for an intimate dinner of only a couple dozen, if that, as the more appropriate venues were already being dressed and prepared for events to be held in Jon's honor later in the week. The setting was downright _romantic—_ soft, warm candlelight flickered and danced to the somber warble of harp strings.

 

Seated at the high table were King Rhaegar and his queen, Elia. Jon had been sat at a table to Rhaegar's right, beside his brother, and to Aegon's side sat their sister, Rhaenys. Somewhat unfortunately, Daenerys had been seated at a table opposite to Jon _—_ beside her brother, Lord of Dragonstone, and his wife. A few others from his father's small council, as well as their families, filled in the remaining seats, though they were few. His aunt hadn't wasted even a moment before boring her eyes right into him.

 

The first half-hour or so, Jon had been bombarded with questions regarding his time at Winterfell—what skills he'd learned, or what he'd studied during his lessons. It was a welcome enough distraction, anything that might divert his attention away from Dany's leering. However, his father seemed more or less unimpressed with the standards of the north, which came as no surprise. Aegon had been _much_ more poised and articulate, after all, though Jon felt certain he could easily overpower his brother in a fair fight. Something his father likely hadn't put much stock in since the realm had known peace, more or less, since the Rebellion.

 

Once the obligatory interrogation had died down, Jon couldn't keep his eyes from wandering to Daenerys, undoubtedly the most beautiful sight in all seven kingdoms. She'd likewise changed before attending supper that evening, looking equally as stunning in a more modest-cut dark red gown, befitting the Targaryen beauty that she was. He'd hardly touched his food—one of the few things he'd actually looked forward to upon returning home—since, the moment he let his mind wander, he'd revisit the welcome memory of his aunt, spread wide open on his balcony. The mere thought colored his cheeks pink as they exchanged stares from across the room, delighting in their shared secret.

 

Unsure why, he'd matched every sip of wine she'd taken, feeling its welcome effects and noting that they hadn't been much different than the ones Daenerys, herself, had induced. Lightheaded. Dizzy. Strangely bold... Suddenly, she downed the rest of her wine, and so Jon did, too. She rose from her seat to re-fill her glass, as well as a second, and headed straight toward him, her hips swaying to harp's slow serenade.

 

"I noticed you were out of wine, so..." she thrust the glass toward her nephew. Their fingers grazed as he grasped the stem, further emboldening him.

 

"Very thoughtful of you, _auntie_."

 

She met the cheeky show of gratitude with a smile so wide he feared her lips might crack at the edges. All the wine had _certainly_ dulled his reluctance, so much so that now he'd been openly flirting with her. Right in front of her husband-to-be, no less.

 

"Do you mind if I-?" she asked, gesturing to the small space between him and his brother.

 

Jon still felt a measure of latent guilt over all he'd seen of Egg's would-be wife, but he nodded, nonetheless, as she pulled up an open chair and wriggled her way between them. His brother had paid his betrothed no mind at all, more or less ignoring her in favor of their sister, Rhaenys. The entire scene seemed to echo their childhood. Jon and Daenerys, drawn together like magnets, the rest of them just outside of their fields, repelled.

 

"I was mad at you for _years_ , you know," Daenerys started in.

 

"What? _Why?_ "

 

"For leaving me. For going north without me."

 

"I _had_ to go north, it wasn't my choice."

 

"I know. But then you'd write home. Elia would read us your scrolls and every time you'd mention Sansa or Arya, I'd go a little mad with jealousy. You had a whole new family up there."

 

"Well, what about you? You had Rhae," he said, nodding toward his sister, sat just beyond Egg.

 

"Oh, _hardly_. Rhaenys outgrew me not long after you left. She didn't want to be seen hanging around with a _child_."

 

" _Vis?_ "

 

Daenerys met the suggestion with a belly-laugh, "If you think Viserys did _anything_ other than torture me, you'd be _sorely_ mistaken. Sometimes he tests me so much I could just..." she stopped to wring her hands for emphasis, " _kill him_."

 

"He's not _that_ bad," Jon said, his gaze flicking to his uncle, sat just across from them.

 

"Says _you_ , who got to escape his teen-aged years unharmed."

 

Daenerys chased her irritation with swig of wine. Though she kept her tone cheerful, Jon could tell that his aunt had harbored a deep loneliness, even surrounded by so much family. Even he'd felt the same way, prior to Winterfell, and already since returning. Had they been alone, he would've held her.

 

"Alright, well, _Egg_ ?" he said, _finally_ , reluctant to even speak the name of her betrothed, his own brother. But his curiosity as to the nature of their relationship _burned_.

 

"You know damned well Aegon's nose was buried in books from dawn to dusk. He _never_ played with me."

 

" _Shh_ ," Jon hissed, "He's sittin' _right_ next to you, Daenerys."

 

"Do you want to know a secret?" she whispered. Somewhere underneath the table, her foot slipped from her sandal and snaked its way over his boot and up the leg of his trousers.

 

He gulped as her toes brushed at his leg hair, "Always."

 

" _I don't care_ ," she sneered before downing the rest of her wine. Jon wondered if the liquid had lubricated her mind _as well_ as her lips, the same as it'd done to him.

 

"I'm glad Egg never played with you," he breathed, as close to her ear as he could get away with. "I sure would have."

 

After a sharp exhale, Daenerys looked around, likewise noticing most of their family had been wrapped up in their own conversations, paying little mind to her or Jon.

 

"I would've liked to 've played with you, too," she whispered, and suddenly, her hand had appeared from nowhere. Wet fingertips swiped across his lips, leaving behind a warm, sticky residue... Jon's eyes grew twice in size, recognizing the flavor immediately, though it was all-new to his tongue.

 

"But you weren't here anymore. So I had to play _alone_ ," she said, her hand disappearing again, beneath the table. Instinctively, Jon stole glances of his family and the other dinner guests scattered around the room—some dancing, some mingling, others stuffing themselves on second plates of food—leaving him free to watch her.

 

Veiling his eyes as best he could under lashes, Jon glimpsed what he could from his viewpoint. Dany's small white wrist peeked out from the gathered fabric at her bare thigh... her hand stroking away between her legs, bobbing along under the red, woolen fabric. His breath hitched as he watched her work, fighting the urge to bat her hand away and slip his own between her thighs.

 

"Daenerys, _stop_ ," Jon warned her, before turning away and placing both hands on the table, trying to recuperate.

 

Grabbing a berry from his plate, she grazed his hand with hers again—leaving behind the familiar warm residue on his skin. With eyebrows raised so high they wrinkled his forehead, he gave her a brief, quizzical look before grabbing a few berries, himself, popping them into his mouth, hoping to disguise his true motive.

 

After swishing his saliva around, he managed to clear his palate enough before bringing his fingers to his lips and sucking them dry, his mouth watering from the irresistible tangy, savory, almost _metallic_ taste—intoxicating him near instantly, far more than even the wine had done. Just as his eyes fluttered closed, he heard Elia's voice from the adjacent table.

 

"Jon. _Use your napkin_ ," she urged, motioning toward the folded cloth beside his plate.

 

Flushing a crimson as deep as her dress, he glared at his aunt as she bit back her laughter. "I'm going to retire for the night," she sighed, curving her pruned fingers delicately around the neck of her wineglass. _Fuck_ , Jon thought, his tongue trembling with the desire to lick even the thin stem for another taste of her.

 

"Are you?" he asked a bit too quickly. " _Um_ , where to, exactly?"

 

"Oh, don't worry," she said, leaning over his chair, her breath tickling the curls near his ear, "I intend to collect on our little bargain. As soon as possible."

 

" _Little_ , eh?"

 

"That remains to be _seen_ , Jon Targaryen," she said, drifting away from him. "Good night," she called, over her shoulder, her serpentine hips undulating as she left.

 

And just like that, she was gone, leaving Jon both desperate for an escape route, as well as a proper taste... _A good night_ , indeed, he'd hoped, dabbing the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.

 

.  .  .

 

It hadn't taken much longer before Jon had been, more or less, encouraged to retire early for the night—sweat-sheened and flushed red, he looked downright ill. Queen Elia had assumed him sick from his travels, or perhaps even from the extravagant, imported Dornish fare, the likes of which he hadn't eaten in about a decade. He only played up his symptoms, apologizing profusely for ducking out of the gathering prematurely.

 

Once out of sight of the patrolling guards, he practically ran through the halls until he'd reached his chamber. The wine and his aunt's persistence had proven to be the perfect mixture to dissolve his hesitancy almost entirely. He could think of little else but Dany's porcelain-perfect skin, hoping to discover whether she'd been as soft as she looked... His groin, his whole body, really, had made its intentions clear—riddled with a sweet yet agonizing pain that only she could help soothe.

 

Cautiously, he entered, shaking with excitement, wondering how he might find her. Might she already be in some state of undress? Perhaps even entirely unclothed, already bare and spread out before him...

 

Inside, his room had been pitch dark, save for the soft light of a quarter-moon pouring in from just beyond the archways of his balcony. A cool breeze swept through, the only sound had been the rustling of curtains, followed by his disappointed sigh to find he'd been all alone.

 

" _Fuck_ ," he uttered, much like a spoiled child who hadn't gotten his way.

 

He'd been lucky enough to have been able to locate his room a second time, and knew there'd be no way he'd know where to find her, even if he went looking.

 

 _Maybe she's on her way_ , he guessed, attempting to console himself as he stripped away his clothes, delighting in the way the cool air alleviated the flush from his skin. He took one last look at the ground below, what he could see of it from where he'd stood. A lone lantern hung, barely illuminating the usually-busy street. A passer-by or two had passed, not even bothering to gaze up at the keep. Jon felt a rush of exhilaration shedding the rest of his clothes just shy of his balcony, though still shielded by the darkness of his room.

 

" _Wow_ ," a whoosh of a whisper came from behind him. "Only the gods could've sculpted an ass so perfect..."

 

Jon couldn't help his snort of laughter after the crude comment. He smiled ear to ear, since, not only had she been in his room waiting for him, but she apparently liked what she saw. He had certainly enjoyed hers...

 

"Can I touch it?"

 

"If it please you," he grinned in anticipation.

 

Gooseflesh erupted all along his legs and even his arms as her fingernails sank right into his skin. He shuddered at the sound of a slight whimper as she buried her nose into his back.

 

"Now you're naked," she sighed, "But I'm not ready to see it, yet."

 

"You're _not?_ " he asked. He didn't believe her at all.

 

"I told you I wanted to see how hard I could make it," she said, running her fingertips along his arms, from shoulder to elbow, then elbow to palms.

 

"I _really_ think you'd be fine to see it right now if that is the requirement," he groaned. "It's been upright since earlier..."

 

" _No_ , not yet," she insisted, leaving behind a gust of cool night air in her wake as she threw herself onto his bed. "Turn around," she ordered him.

 

Met with the sight of his aunt on all fours, he shuddered once more, feeling aches ripple through each of his limbs, all originating from his throbbing groin. Even in the dim light, he could make out the details of her cunt perfectly—fleshy and lustrous with an almost threadlike wetness clinging to silver-blonde wisps. She'd already managed to coax the same visceral reaction from him, everything from his skin, his nerves, to his blood and bone had begged to burrow inside of her, in any fashion she'd allow.

 

" _Daenerys_ ," he hissed.

 

"Is it hard, then?" she devilishly asked before planting her face right into his blanket, elevating her backside even further. As his teeth had barred his mouth shut, he pushed his breath out from the corners of his mouth as he bent his knees, stealing a peek at her belly and the underside of her breasts.

 

"You _know_ damned well it is. And, if I have to look at you _any_ longer, it must just burst."

 

She chuckled, quickly flipping over and onto her knees, her eyes immediately finding his all-too rigid erection as she dragged her fingernails across her bottom lip.

 

"See? I told you," he said, fighting the urge to cover himself up as she ogled him.

 

"If I left right now, what would you do?" she asked, seemingly having a difficult time tearing her gaze away from his pelvis to meet his eyes.

 

He hesitated, unsure how to answer.

 

"Would you touch yourself?"

 

Jon nodded. _Obviously_ , he thought. He'd _have_ to.

 

"Come to bed, then," she suggested, inching her way toward the center of his mattress before patting the empty space beside her. "Lie down. I want to see you do it."

 

Thankful it had been too dark for her to see how red his face had been in that moment, he simply shook his head, "Doesn't sound like too fair a deal."

 

"Does it sound fair if I let you see how I do it, too?"

 

Jon only smirked as he jumped up and onto the bed, his aunt pawing at him instantly, pushing him back into his pillows as she pressed her lips to his. He couldn't help but moan from the velvety softness of her lips, and just when they fell into a comfortable rhythm, her hand enclosed around his wrist, dragging it down and toward his groin. Cheeks burning with fresh embarrassment, he went along with it, slowly stroking himself as she massaged his knuckles with her fingertips.

 

"Do you mind if I touch you a bit as I watch?" she asked, even though she'd already taken the liberty.

 

Still, he _fervently_ shook his head no, clenching his eyes closed in hopes to suppress some of his nervousness.

 

While blinded, he felt her soft lips taking small nips from his shaft wherever she could sneak it between strokes. Jon couldn't help but whimper each time she met his skin with hers, until finally, she kissed her way up, over his hands, and to the head of his cock, taking it into her mouth and gently sucking.

 

"That is most certainly... _not..._ how I do it," he stammered.

 

"It could be. From now on," she said as the head of his cock bounced on her lips with each word before it disappeared between them once more.

 

Jon threw his head back, hardly able to bear the sensation of her warm mouth as she enveloped him, her pillowy lips and nose pressing into his thumb and index finger as she chased each of his strokes, every sharp exhale tickling his knuckles... By now his hand was completely sodden with her saliva.

 

Cracking open an eyelid, Jon noticed she'd since parted her legs and began tending to herself mere inches from his face—her middle finger working small, circular strokes over the fleshy crest of her cunt. She'd keep up the motion until her breathing would falter, and then she'd ease into gentler length-wise sweeps, almost plucking herself like a harp. After watching for another moment, he felt confident enough to take over for her.

 

His right hand abandoned his shaft in favor of her thighs, using both of his hands to pull her lower half right to his mouth. Her teeth scraped against him accidentally as he slipped from her mouth. Jon ignored her apologies as he twisted her body to better meet his, their torsos nearly touching as they each lie on their sides facing one another.

 

Resting his head on her bottom thigh, he burrowed right between her legs, savoring both her smell and taste, finally unfurling his tongue to wriggle between her lips. Dany cried out before taking him in her hands and muzzling herself with his cock. Trying to ignore the sweet sensations of her tongue swirling away, he focused on sucking the wetness from her lips, attempting to pluck her with his tongue the same way she'd done with her finger. It became increasingly difficult to concentrate on pleasing her, as she dug her nails straight into his hip, encouraging him to thrust into her mouth. When she began to moan from his efforts, the small vibrations traveled down his shaft, fracturing his very foundation and wiping any thought from his mind. As the temblor struck, the well of his seed spilled over, filling her mouth and throat. She met each spurt eagerly, the muscles in her throat constricting around his head as she swallowed it down. Jon collapsed onto his back, near-weeping from both delight and disbelief.

 

After catching his breath, he smiled down at Daenerys. "Your turn," he said, grabbing her hips and clumsily pulling her onto his chest, careful to maneuver her right thigh so that she was straddling his face.

 

"Scoot down," he instructed her as she obediently slid down his body, her long silver hair brushing over his thighs and tickling his skin. It was his turn, now, to dig his nails into her fleshy, round bottom before craning his neck and smothering himself with her sweltry cunt. Dany bucked against him, greedily using his mouth and nose for her pleasure, compressing his body underneath her weight all the while. Boldly, Jon slipped a finger inside of her, twisting and curling as he tirelessly worked. He, too, groaned in satisfaction merely from her taste, her enthusiasm, hoping the vibrations would likewise be her undoing.

 

Dany cried out as tremors took hold of her, her body jerking and nearly slithering away. Jon locked his arms around her thighs, holding her in place as he lapped her up. He kept going until he couldn't breathe anymore, which hadn't been long since she'd managed to nudge him so far into his pillow his entire face was saturated as a result.

 

Finally, he let go of her, and she tumbled to his side. Thoroughly glutted, Jon couldn't help but grin as he clambered to his knees, re-adjusting before lying back down so he'd face her.

 

"Let's run away, Jon," she whispered, unburying herself from a nest of silver tangles.

 

"Run away? Where would we go?" he asked, extending his hand to aid the endeavor, separating sweat-slicked strands from her skin and brushing them aside.

 

"Hmm," she contentedly hummed. "To Braavos?"

 

" _Braavos?_ "

 

"Why not? I hear they speak the common tongue in Ragman's Harbor. I know a little Valyrian, too."

 

"You've thought about this before?" he asked, combing through the knots he'd helped make in her hair.

 

She nodded. Slipping a finger under her chin, he tilted her head up enough to reach her lips for another kiss. They'd slumped almost immediately post-kiss, from exhaustion alone. "We'd have to change our names," he agreed breathlessly.

 

"Maybe we'd pose as bastards. You could be... Jon Sand?"

 

He raised a curious eyebrow at the suggestion.

 

"No, that's not right," she agreed. "Jon... _Snow? Yes!_ That's it. With that accent of yours? Snow, certainly."

 

"I admit, it does have a nice ring to it... But what about you?"

 

"Daenerys..." she paused to consider, " _Hmm_..."

 

"Storm," he smirked.

 

" _Storm?_ If anything I'd be a Waters..."

 

"No. You're a _tempest_. The storm that'll whisk me straight over the narrow sea..." he sighed, waving his hand for emphasis.

 

"Don't joke about this, Jon" she warned. "I'm _serious_."

 

"So am I," he assured her, though he couldn't help but laugh. After all, he'd already considered running away once before. Going north and taking the black to avoid returning to King's Landing at all, something he was currently thanking the gods for—the old _and_ the new—that he'd never followed through with his rebellious plan.

 

"What if King Rhaegar finds us?"

 

"If my father finds us, well... I suppose we'll blame our elopement on some prophecy. What could he possibly say to that?"

 

"You're bad, _Jon Snow_ ," she said with a smile.

 

"It's my aunt," he confessed. "You see, she's a _terrible_ influence on me..."

 

Daenerys let out something of a growl before muffling his laughs with a kiss. In truth, Jon hadn't known exactly how serious she'd been about running away with him, about eloping together. All he really knew was that she deserved much more than a lukewarm, loveless marriage, a powerless queenship, just because she had the right name and look. So long as she'd let him, he vowed to help her escape it. Jon hadn't been cut out for the life of a prince, nor had the woman who'd served as the only true anchor in his double life been happy about her own, already-decided fate. _Daenerys is mine_ , he told himself, possessively wrapping his arms around her as they kissed. _She's mine and I'm going to keep her—even if that means the seven kingdoms bleed_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know Jon Connington was not at the Trident in canon. Maybe he ignored his exile to save his Prince? Maybe things didn't go so quite so poorly at the Battle of the Bells and he never got exiled at all? This is just a sorry excuse for a smutty AU, and I needed Rhaegar alive and Jon to have a namesake that made sense - So please, do not take these changes *too* seriously, or the conversation about bastard names at the end. That's just for fun! After all, I'm just here tryin'a get aunts in Jon's pants!


End file.
